


Hurt

by RosieToast



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieToast/pseuds/RosieToast
Summary: Basil found himself in over his head, but the good Doctor is there to save him.





	Hurt

Thunder rumbled overhead, the third instance since Basil had started hobbling back home in defeat. His left arm hung uselessly at his side; the shoulder was dislocated (he was pretty sure. One eye was already swelling shut, some ribs were bruised, and he had several slashes peppered over his torso, including one very concerning one along his belly that wasn’t coagulating as well as he needed it to. A few fat raindrops splashed on and around him, quickly picking up into a downpour with lightning flashing just seconds before a loud crack echoed in the sky. The following rumble of thunder sounded like growling, tricking Basil into whirling around to check if he was still being pursued, his injuries finally affecting his ability to think clearly. He tripped over his own feet and fell roughly, biting off his cry of pain with a determined snarl.

_‘You’ve really outdone yourself this time, old chap,’_ he thought to himself bitterly, always in his mind enough to find self pity. He went to pick himself up, but it was just too hard to do. It was hard to see through the rain, although it was also possible his vision was fading. His brain was working slowly and it took him a few seconds to realize his eyes were actually closed. He opened them, blinked, and felt so tired.

_‘Should have told Dawson…’_ he scolded himself while trying to muster enough strength to pull himself to a nearby wall, thinking - no, hoping - he could climb it until he was back on his feet. _‘Just one more block and you can apologize to the doctor…’_ He pictured the man sitting by the fire with a book in hand, waiting for the detective’s return. ‘Can’t disappoint the old boy, now,’ but Basil’s eyes were closed again and he couldn’t seem to open them.

There was a howl in the distance, but, no, it couldn’t have been that far away because some canine was sniffing at him erratically. A hot and slimy tongue dragged gently along his body, bringing to mind his loyal Toby. And then there was a very mouse-like shout,

“Basil!”

_'So it is my Toby…'_ Basil tried opening his eyes again, managing just the undamaged one. It seemed much darker now than before. _‘Well done, doctor,’_ he meant to say it, just couldn’t right now.

He felt Dawson’s hands swiftly running along his body, pressing here and there, and it might have been nice if every press, no matter how gentle, hurt. The cherubic face was staring at him, all cheer and joviality gone, replaced now with grim determination. The look did not suit that man, Basil decided. Dawson was arranging Basil into a sort of sitting position, one arm secured under his knees and the other around his back just under his armpits. “I’m going to lift you now, alright, Basil? Try not to move…” And they were rising, so slowly, but steadily, and undeniably up. Basil was faintly surprised. “I can’t carry you back, so we’re going to have to get Toby to carry you, alright? Do you understand what that means?”

Basil was having a hard enough time keeping his eye open, let alone process what Dawson was saying. But he knew two things: one, always trust the doctor, and two, always do what the doctor says. So he nodded.

There was hot, moist, horrible smelling air all around him, and then teeth. His heart jolted with panic, but his Doctor was there with some of his softness returned to his eyes, a string of comforting words Basil couldn’t quite get a hold of but nevertheless calming him. He couldn’t keep his eye open anymore. Everything went black.

He woke up in his bed, heavy and hot beneath his duvet. His lips were cracked, tongue sticky in his mouth. He turned his head towards his bedside table looking for water, and he found it. He foolishly began moving his right arm to reach for it, came to his senses, and moved to sit up. That action was ended abruptly when his chest and back flared with enough pain to make him gasp. He sank back into his pillow, letting his memories slowly leak back into his conscious mind. He carefully pushed the duvet off his overheating body, a shiver ran through him where the cooler air reached his naked fur.

The door opened, “mister Basil!” Mrs. Hudson came scurrying into the room, placing a tray down on his dresser before heading for the almost fully discarded duvet. “You are not supposed to be laying here nude! You are ill and _must_ keep your blanket _on_!”

“Don’t you dare put that thing back on me, or so help me God!” Basil threatened in a weak voice. He was still uncomfortably hot and his throat was now irritated by dryness.

“Nice try, mister Basil, but you are in no state to be giving me orders.” The woman tossed the duvet back onto Basil.

He grabbed it and slowly began pulling it towards the other side of the bed while staring at her defiantly.

“Don’t you dare, Basil!” formality dropped, Mrs. Hudson gripped the duvet from the opposite side of the bed to stop him.

“Mrs. Hudson, you will let go of that duvet this instant or I will find myself a new housekeeper…”

“Ha! You’ll never find anyone else willing to put up with you.”

“I found our beloved doctor Dawson,” his chest swelled a bit, feeling a bit proud that he could find someone else willing to put up with him.

“What on earth are you doing?” Speak of the devil, there was the Doctor right on cue.

“Perfect timing old chap, please tell Mrs. Hudson to leave me to my own...devices…” Basil’s good spirit shrivelled up at the sight of Dawson. The man was disheveled and exhausted, in fact there was something almost gaunt about his features.

The good doctor approached the bed, “Basil, you are suffering a rather intense fever at the moment and you absolutely must keep your duvet on.”

Basil stopped tugging the duvet, allowing Mrs. Hudson to straighten herself out. “Are you alright, old boy?”

Dawson paused at the foot of the bed, surprised. His body relaxed after that, although his eyes looked a little sadder, “my good man, you should be worrying about yourself.”

Basil scoffed, “I have you taking care of me. I couldn’t be in better hands.”

The doctor blushed.

“Then he can serve you supper while I finish the dishes!” Mrs. Hudson announced, pointing to the tray she’d brought in earlier. She glanced at Dawson with eyebrows raised.

Something about it made the blush on his face spread. “Oh, uh, of course, I-I can do that.”

She smiled and left.

“Before you get to that, old chap, do you mind passing me the water? I’m terribly parched.”

Dawson came up along the bedside, “first we’ll sit you up.”

“Already tried that, didn’t go so well.”

“This time you’ll have help,” Dawson insisted so gently it almost fooled Basil into thinking this would be a pleasant experience.

It was not. And on top of the pain he was beginning to feel dizzy. Basil told Dawson so while the man rearranged the pillows to help keep Basil propped up.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that, but there’s a bucket here in case you feel the need to be...sick.” He smiled apologetically while handing over the glass of water.

Basil took a small sip, savoured the feeling of it, sighed, “thank you, old boy. You saved me.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Basil.”

“The worst is done, I can feel it. The exhaustion is as deep as my bones, though. How long have I been home?”

“Almost a week now.”

Basil couldn’t muster up the kind of energy needed to be shocked, but the news struck him. He took another sip of water to give himself more time to think. He examined the doctor more closely. The shirt was a lost cause, covered in faded brown and yellow stains - blood and sweat respectively - that the man had tried to wash out, but failed. He hadn’t changed since bringing him home, clearly hadn’t slept much either; his eyes were red with deep bags beneath them. Even his mustache looked frayed. “Poison?” He took another sip. Drowsiness was settling in him again, but there was more to learn.

“Yes, the sword that left the deepest gash along your stomach was tainted. Lucky for you I’d come across it before in Afghanistan.” He raised his brow pointedly at Basil.

“Yes, that was my oversight. Of course it was an international matter…” the glass in his hand was growing very heavy making him forego another sip in favour of feebly offering the glass of water to the doctor, who smoothly met Basil’s hand before it had moved more than an inch, always aware of every little motion in his patients. _‘In me it seems at times.’_ the thought came and went without much fuss in Basil’s mind; it felt so natural and true he was sure to have rejected it for being so mawkish had he not been ill.

Now Dawson was gently coaxing Basil back down onto his back, “then it is good that I know the military always has eyes beyond their home’s borders.”

Basil’s eye was closing but his smirk was full of his usual snark, “when will I learn to utilize your wisdom more often?” He was delighted by the sound of his friend’s mirthful giggle above him.

“I suspect your pride will never make room for such clever ideas, old boy.”

Dawson was leaving now, Basil could feel the man’s weight shifting, getting ready to go. He reached his hand out, fingers searching for any part of the doctor. He found a hand, he grasped it and it grasped back after a moment’s hesitation. “You solved my case, didn’t you?” There was a long pause which immediately told Basil the truth. He wished he could look the other man in the eye in this moment. He squeezed the hand tighter.

“Not fast enough, it would seem.”

“You did perfectly. I am the fool,” _‘and I sometimes don’t think I deserve you.’_ “My dearest friend.”

Basil was asleep again, but he felt calm, secure, and a little proud. He would have to do better for his doctor; the feeling permeated into his dreams where he planned just how to make it up to the most incredible man in the world: Doctor David Q. Dawson.


End file.
